


I Want You But a Nap Will Do

by kayliemalinza



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-29
Updated: 2009-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:46:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack can't get his glove to fit. Pre-slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want You But a Nap Will Do

**Author's Note:**

> Set before Season 1.

Jack has half of the leather glove on before he realizes it's not fitting like it normally does. He stares at it, completely stymied, and waggles the empty fingers.

Ianto comes up like he's on a moving sidewalk and joins Jack in staring at the glove. After a long moment he says, "Suzie is getting around much better this afternoon. The swelling has gone down, and she hasn't experienced nausea for several hours."

"Glad to hear it," Jack mutters. He turns his hand over to look at the glove from the other side and runs his finger down the seam.

"She wanted me to tell you that she can handle the crisis for a while," Ianto says, almost cheerful. "Give you a chance to rest. It's been about three days since you slept, hasn't it?"

"I'm fine," says Jack, and scowls. "I just—I need to go outside to check the markers, and it's _cold_ outside, but I can't—" he feels his throat starts to close from frustration and pauses, breathes, tries again. "I can't get my glove to go on," he says, and isn't whining. Not a bit.

"Ah," says Ianto. "Sir—" he cuts himself off, standing with the subservient precision, the faintly high-strung sense of _I dare not_ that makes Jack want to bite the edge of Ianto's jaw every time.

"Did you want to say something?" Jack asks, dredging up an amused smile from somewhere because Ianto does amuse him, even exhausted like this. Ianto's tight-laced but he's got a skitter in his eyes that makes Jack think his libido might be rocket powered. Rockets are carefully regulated and need two keys to fire, and isn't _that_ a diverting thought.

"Nothing, sir," Ianto says. "Only—"

One of these days Jack will bite the edge of Ianto's jaw. He vows this solemnly to himself.

Ianto gives Jack a very careful, almost apologetic glance. "That's Toshiko's glove," he says.

Jack blinks. "It is?" he asks, and sounds a little lost.

"Yes sir," says Ianto, and reaches out to gently pry the glove from Jack's fingers. "It's an easy thing to get confused. That purple is very fetching on you." The curl in the corner of his mouth is fleeting but distinctive, like a whiff of cinnamon or maybe mint. Jack wonders if mint and cinnamon would taste well together, then wonders if he remembered to eat lunch, and then he finds himself distracted. The flicker of the overhead fluorescent is reflecting in the slick of Ianto's lower lip.

Ianto blinks into the awkward pause. He presses the glove against his chest and coddles the distended leather. "Do you require anything?" he asks solicitously.

"Um, no," says Jack, and rubs his eyes. "I think I'm going to go lie down for a few hours, though. Tell Suzie she's in charge."

"Very good, sir," says Ianto, and slips from the room.


End file.
